


RULES OF ENGAGEMENT

by Cinlat, Tishina



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Collaboration, F/M, Fynta Wolfe - Freeform, Joran, To Be Continued?, Ucevi, Zas, and they share a drink, bar brawl, blurred lines, plus a few minor injuries, rules of engagement - mostly ignored, sith meets trooper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27568807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinlat/pseuds/Cinlat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tishina/pseuds/Tishina
Summary: Major Fynta Wolfe drops into a bar on Nar Shaddaa and has an unexpected encounter. Flirting, brawls, and comedy ensues.
Relationships: Aric Jorgan/Female Republic Trooper, Malavai Quinn/Female Sith Warrior
Comments: 17
Kudos: 13





	RULES OF ENGAGEMENT

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea that's been kicked around for a while now, and finally, we decided to get it done. Ucevi, Zas, and Joran all belong to Tishina. 
> 
> Word Count: 5,483  
> Rating: T (for violence, language, and the mention of sex)

Fynta lifted her glass in appreciation when the bartender deposited it on the polished surface. They’d pulled into port later than expected, but she’d be damned if she put off the girl’s night with Dorne again. Now, if the stubborn woman would get her nose out of whatever report she’d burrowed into and arrive, they could start. The annual tradition of bar hopping and shopping was in honor of Jaxo, started years ago and carried on in the soldier’s memory. Fynta’s way of keeping her friend’s memory alive while Elara humored her.

One of Fynta’s favorite reasons for choosing Nar Shaddaa was sitting on the stool beside her. A Sith Blooded woman, clearly Imperial judging by her perfect posture, idly swirled a shot glass full of whiskey. The species had come as a surprise, Fynta had thought the woman was a Zabrak in the dim lighting of the pub when she’d entered. At least until the woman tossed back her hood and rested a mask on the counter between them. 

Fynta suppressed a giddy smirk. She’d never met one of her kind that wasn’t trying to kill her, and wondered what had dragged a member of the notoriously proud species all the way to the dregs of Nar Shaddaa. It was difficult to resist sneaking a sideways glance to study her companion more closely.

Seeming to catch Fynta’s curiosity, the woman grinned and tossed back her shot of whiskey. The movement accentuated the play of muscle in well defined biceps and an impressively built forearm. Her initial assumption of Sith proper wavered under the evidence of a woman who worked with her hands. Now that Fynta had been caught, she allowed herself a once over and noted the lack of lightsaber. As if reading her mind, the Sith Blooded woman winked and lifted two fingers towards the bartender. Fynta’s eyes narrowed, still not wholly convinced of the woman’s lack of Force ability. 

As ordered, two glasses appeared, and the woman slid the second towards Fynta. The casual way her knuckles pushed the drink led Fynta to believe that this was a common practice. Probably not a Sith after all. Throwing caution to the wind, Fynta accepted with a toast. “Hell of a day, am I right?”

“I’ll drink to that.” Fynta’s brow lifted at the deep, almost gruff sound of the woman’s voice. It was no surprise that the accent was Imperial. But given the lack of hostility, especially as no one here knew she was a Republic officer, Fynta accepted the gift and tossed the liquid back. She expected a burn, bracing for the scalding sensation of cheap alcohol cut with stars knew what, and was surprised to find that she recognized the smooth taste. 

Smacking her lips, Fynta studied the glass. “Corellian?” Jorgan would throw a fit to learn that his favorite whiskey was favored by the enemy as well. 

“Well spotted.” Ucevi’s eyes narrowed and shifted past her impromptu drinking partner to where a Twi’lek server was backing away from a well dressed man in a boisterous mood. The revulsion on the girl’s face painted a clear enough picture of what had happened, as did the jeering encouragement from the man’s entourage. 

“Fan-fierfeking-tastic,” the blonde woman sighed as she set down her drink. “The chakaar couldn’t give us one shabbing night off.” _I probably shouldn’t be amused_ , Ucevi thought absent-mindedly, attention mostly on the nearby scene, _but that was definitely a curse woven into that, and quite creatively. Never heard that one, though. Wonder what culture she’s from. Can’t quite place the accent either._

Before she could move to confront the worm harassing the server, the blonde woman turned on her stool, one elbow propped on the bar, and lifted her glass with the other. Instincts trained into her from a young age forced Ucevi to follow the movement, catching the glint of light off the shot glass as it lobbed through the air before landing with a solid thump on top of the offender’s head. _I’ll bet a month’s expenses that that’s not the first time she’s done that. Hmm, well trained aim._ The man howled, shooting to his feet in a display of alcohol-soaked rage. _And this is about to get ugly. Idiot._

Undaunted, the woman who threw the glass waved a single digit at the man. “Mind leaving the staff alone? I need them to fetch me drinks.” 

The man stormed down the line of bar stools separating them, invading Fynta’s space. She felt, more than saw, the woman at her back tense, and wondered briefly how those muscles held up in a fight. Leaning close enough that Fynta could smell the cheap beer that he’d been drinking, the man jabbed a finger into her shoulder. “Why don’t you mind your own fucking business.”

Swiveling back, Fynta called out again to the barkeep, ignoring the brute fuming at her side. “I need another, please. I seem to have misplaced my glass.” 

Maybe it was the alcohol, or perhaps she’d been showing off for her new friend with the deep pockets, but it came as a surprise when the man’s fingers curled around Fynta’s braid and her head snapped back. If not for his secure hold, she would have landed flat on her back. As it happened, Fynta’s boots found the floor and left her in the precarious position of being suspended by nothing but leg muscles and the strength of her hair.

Ucevi moved to intervene, pausing when the woman twisted around to ram a fist into her attacker’s groin. _Eh, she looks as if she can hold her own if this turns nasty._ The man yelped as his knees buckled, then growled, while the woman used the length of her hair to allow more reach. A slap to his face as he fell, and the man’s fingers uncurled from around her braid. _Not bad. She’s had professional training of some sort._

The Devaronian who’d egged on the man’s poor behavior charged at Fynta with an indignant snort. She used her slumped attacker as leverage to plant a boot into his friend’s chest. Turning, Fynta ran straight into the fist of the third member of their party. Pain exploded behind her eyes, blurring her vision with tears as she staggered back and into something solid. 

Expecting another attack, Fynta angled her face upward to find her drinking companion looming at her back. _Shab, she must beat Aric’s height by a couple of centimeters!_ The words rattled through Fynta’s mind in the half a beat it took for her to be shunted aside so that the Sith Blooded woman could wade in. Fynta took a distinct pleasure in the way the man’s face paled, until her feet left the ground and she was staring at the rafters. 

The original offender had regained his composure and bared wide, flat teeth at Fynta in a snarl as he reached for her throat. She let him find it, tucking her chin to keep his hold unsteady, and wrapped both legs around his extended arm. It was a move she’d used on Vik once, and this man didn’t have half the bulk or training of her wayward Weequay friend. With a twist of her hips, the elbow joint snapped and they both tumbled to the side. 

Before Fynta could regain her feet, the Devaronian had found his courage and cleared the gap between them. She braced for his strike, then peeked through one eye when it didn’t fall. He was gone.

Scrambling upright, Fynta found the Sith Blood woman standing over the third attacker while he groaned. When Fynta searched for the Devaronian, she found him on the other side of the room amidst the wreckage of a table. _I knew it._

Fynta mentally congratulated herself on her deductive skill while making her way to where the other woman was apparently lecturing her felled foe on proper etiquette. Fynta only caught the end as she moved closer to survey the damage. “...and her job does _not_ include tolerating worms who never learned to keep their hands to themselves!”

“Fierfek,” Fynta breathed in a quiet laugh. “I hate that I missed whatever you did to this guy.”

Ucevi grimaced at the blood smeared wreck that had become her companion’s face. “Are you alright?”

The woman waved the concern away, still taking in the damage they’d done to the pub. Without warning, she rounded on Ucevi with hands on hips. “You’re a shabbing Sith!” The words were harsh, but didn’t carry the hostility that Ucevi expected. The woman gestured at her face, then gingerly touched the back of her hand to where blood still trickled from one nostril. “You couldn’t have done the hand wavy thing _before_ he busted my nose?”

Ucevi shrugged. “You looked like you had it under control.” She wiped away a trickle of blood from the cut on her forehead when it threatened to get into her eyes, then offered the other hand to the woman. “I’m Ucevi, by the way.”

“Fynta Wolfe.” She accepted the proffered fingers, marveling at how cool they felt. She’d never been this close to a Sith Blood that wasn’t trying to kill her. “Pleasure to meet you.” Fynta snatched the tail of her shirt up to wipe away the blood staining her face. Judging by Ucevi’s reaction, she’d missed most of it.

The Sith woman rolled her shoulders, then turned to the server in question. “Hey, you alright?”

The young woman was staring at the mess, including the unconscious bodies, and simply nodded weakly.

Ucevi followed the line of her gaze, took in the busted tables, and sighed. “Here.” She reached into a pocket and tossed the Twi’lek woman a credit chip. “That should cover the damages and make sure your boss doesn’t take this out on you.” She glanced at Fynta, eyes drawn briefly to the definition revealed by the raised shirt, then up to where it was pressed to her nose, smirking. “I’m expecting someone any time now who’s a medic. He can look at that. Buy you a drink while we wait?”

Fynta shrugged, blue eyes twinkling in a way that led Ucevi to believe that she hadn't missed the stolen glance. “Actually, I’m waiting for a medic too. But, I’ll take you up on that drink and we’ll see who gets here first.”

Once the two were seated again, the Twi’lek woman served them with alacrity, but they’d just raised their glasses when a woman’s voice drawled behind them, “Damn, Ucevi, you couldn’t even wait for us to get here?” 

Fynta hadn’t even managed to turn away from the bar before the laughter was followed by a distinctly flustered male voice, “My lord!”

The Sith-blooded woman flinched slightly, then muttered to Fynta, “Shit. Guess I won. Wish me luck.”

Fynta grinned, elbows propped on the bar while Ucevi turned to face a newly arrived group. Her nose had stopped bleeding enough not to be a bother anymore, and she was more curious about who could make a Sith react that way than she probably should be.

A Mirialan woman in elegantly immaculate black and purple robes stood with hands on her hips, a red and silver droid trailing just behind her to one side. Fynta felt one brow lift. _Is that...a lightsaber over her shoulder? Shab, two Sith._ Fynta’s muscles tightened out of habit, her body sensing the threat and reacting accordingly. Outwardly, she forced a casual facade as the newcomer brushed purple hair from her eyes. While Fynta knew better than to trust a smiling Sith, this one’s attention was focused mainly on Ucevi. Fynta reached back for her drink and sipped while waiting to see what would happen.

Much less amused was the slender dark-haired human man who was half a step ahead of them, blue eyes narrowing at the sight of Ucevi’s blood-streaked face.

“Wow, you _have_ been having some fun.” The new Sith wasn’t even trying to suppress her amusement as she indicated the unconscious bodies. “At least you won.”

“My lord, please!” The human man glanced back at the other woman. Fynta grinned at the feigned subservience while he clearly writhed with uptight disapproval beneath the surface. _They’re liable to zap him before me, at least._

Leaning closer to Uveci, who’d risen to greet her comrades, Fynta whispered to the broad back now in front of her. “Your medic?”

Before she could respond, the clipped tones of Fynta’s own Imperial snapped across the room. “Major!” 

It was Fynta’s turn to wince as she leaned around Ucevi to face Elara. “I’m suddenly feeling outnumbered.” The half-hearted wave she offered didn’t appear to improve her medic’s mood. Fynta gave up and drained the rest of her drink.

Ucevi’s eyes broke from her silent communication with Quinn long enough to stage-whisper, “Yours?” She eyed the other blonde woman a few feet away with her hands spread as if to encompass everything within the tavern, a familiar glare fixed on Fynta. _Damn, is that glare standard issue for medics?_

Quinn shook his head in exasperation. “We need to see to your injuries, my lord.”

The Twi’lek server, who’d been watching all of this unfold with rapt interest, pointed to one of the smaller rooms that were available for private parties. “Use that one. It’s not crowded enough that anyone’s going to want it.” She waved them on, then turned back to her other customers as if embarrassed to have shown concern.

The Mirialan woman chuckled. “I’ll just watch for Joran and bring him over when he arrives. Thirteen, why don’t _you_ help Quinn?” There was a glint of something in the Mirialan’s eyes that Fynta couldn’t read. The woman moved toward the bar, flashing a flirtatious wink at the Twi’lek server as she ordered a drink. 

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Actually, thank you for the suggestion, Lord Kallig. I believe Thirteen is the most qualified to deal with this.” His eyes flick suspiciously toward their newest arrival, but he remained silent on the topic.

When Ucevi took a deep breath, the sort any soldier would before tackling a formidable challenge, Fynta couldn’t keep her silence. “Want me to disassemble it? I think I’ve got some detcord on me somewhere.” She patted her pockets for emphasis. 

“Just wait,” Uveci hissed in reply. “And don’t even _think_ it. She’s Zas’s research assistant and she can be quite...protective of her.”

“I’ll be overseeing anything this droid recommends,” Elara commented, finally deciding to grace Fynta with her support. “No disrespect intended, but I’m unfamiliar with your droid’s qualifications and it would be remiss of me to allow my commanding officer to be subjected to a potential...miscalculation.”

Fynta grinned despite herself. “I knew you still loved me.”

“Don’t push your luck, sir.” Elara’s curt response only bolstered Fynta’s mood.

The man cleared his throat, and Fynta was almost certain that there was a smirk hidden behind his curled fingers. “I assure you, Thirteen bears no loyalties to either side. She treats everyone with the same level of--”

Ucevi filled in the blank while her man searched for the right word. “Disdain?”

“Well,” Elara began, hands folded regally in front of her. “This should be interesting, wouldn’t you agree, _Fynta_?” Few would suspect the poised Elara Dorne capable of petty spite, but Fynta had worked with the former Imperial long enough to know when she was savoring the consequences brought on by Fynta’s stupidity. With a huff, Fynta slid from her stool and followed the procession into the back room.

Ucevi and Fynta slumped into the room like two children being escorted to the headmaster’s office. An affect amplified when Quinn closed the door, leaning against the wall next to it with his arms crossed. His attention was divided between the two injured women, but occasionally strayed towards the third who’d taken up position opposite him. Fynta watched him from the corner of her eye. _Huh. From the glare, I think he noticed Elara’s accent._

The droid pointed to a bench seat in the back. “Sit. Both of you.” She barked the order, and Fynta’s feet moved before she could stop them. With a sigh accompanied by an appealing look at the man who stared back, completely unmoved, the Sith moved to the bench and sat down with surprising meekness.

While Ucevi moved with dignity despite submitting to a droid’s command, Fynta acquiesced with more than one muttered curse. She refused to look at Elara, already envisioning the smug look on her old friend’s face. Or worse, that speculative expression that meant she was taking notes. Fynta hesitated when her hand touched the bench. 

Ucevi thought it best to intervene when the woman _\---Republic officer? Must be---_ opened her mouth. She leaned closer and spoke softly. “Gauging by the expression on your friend’s face, better to get it over with. And believe me, you’ll be happier if you don’t argue with Thirteen.”

Fynta chewed on her lip, eyes narrowed in clear suspicion “What sort of protocols do you Imps program into your med droids?”

“Technically, RSD-13 is a Republic model, aren’t you, Thirteen?” Ucevi couldn’t keep the amusement out of her voice when she spoke loud enough for the others to hear.

The droid was setting out antiseptic sprays and various bandages and hyposprays. She paused to sniff pointedly. Fynta had no idea a droid could sound so indignant. “As if _they_ ever appreciated my efforts.” Then, she glared at Ucevi. “Though _you_ haven’t done a great deal to convince me there’s much difference, Sith.”

“Thirteen, you _wound_ me. I _always_ appreciate your efforts.” _I must be masochistic after all, needling Thirteen right now._

Vague stories, the sort that worked through the barracks back in training that everyone knew were fake but secretly worried weren't, tickled the back of Fynta’s mind. “RSD series? They’re a myth...right?”

The man coughed politely. “Obviously not. Apparently, the _Republic_ couldn’t find a better use for fully qualified medical droids than curing hangovers and patching up troops after barracks fights.” Fynta nearly sprang from the bench, until she realized that his sharp gaze was fixed on the Sith sitting next to her. Fynta relaxed, glancing between the two when he didn’t become a vague smudge on the wall. Clearly, this was a common grievance, normalizing the Sith more than she wanted to admit.

The droid’s leg clinked when she brushed against Fynta’s, stoking Ucevi’s curiosity at the mineral, rather than biological, noise. It would be rude to ask, so Ucevi shifted closer to Fynta with a smirk. “Got a couple of replacements myself. I seem to have a knack for attracting explosions.”

“You too?” A sloppy grin painted Fynta’s face in a friendlier light. “Shab, if you weren't a Sith, this might be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

“And, if you weren’t a Pub…” Ucevi let the statement fade, but her smirk never faltered. “Well, at least you aren’t a Jedi.” 

Fynta snorted a laugh, the kind that cleared the blood from her sinuses and annoyed the medical droid further. She’d planned to follow up Ucevi’s statement, but when she leaned closer, Fynta barely caught the wet towel that Thirteen shoved in her face. It was for the best, because Fynta’s view towards Jedi would probably be considered unpatriotic. Instead she began to use the towel to clean her face. 

Ucevi was regaining her sense of humor until the droid began cleaning the blood on her forehead, wincing. “Damn, Thirteen, that really _does_ burn. What the hell are you using?”

Thirteen held Ucevi’s head in an iron grip. “You know how I feel about dealing with the outcomes of brawls, Sith. We can always ask Captain Quinn _his_ opinion on my choice of antiseptics.”

“You’re evil, Thirteen, you know that?” The muffled words weren’t quite a growl, but Fynta thought that Ucevi might be reaching the limits of her patience.

“So you’ve said. Captain Revel expresses that same opinion every time he has a hangover.” She finished cleaning the wound and began applying kolto with a less-than-gentle touch.

Fynta watched, a feeling of apprehension creeping over her. When Thirteen seemed satisfied with her patchwork, she released the Sith to gather more materials. Ucevi rubbed her cheeks, glaring at the droid’s back. The man by the door---Fynta assumed him to be Quinn as he didn’t look like the hangover type---continued to frown. Fynta whispered, “Is that glare standard issue for medics?”

Elara shadowed Thirteen back to the tray of equipment she had laid out. While the Havoc medic was distracted, Quinn didn’t appear to be so easily swayed. Ucevi sighed. The Sith leaned over to Fynta and whispered in resigned amusement, “Dunno, but bets on whether I’m sleeping on the couch tonight?”

_Well, that explains a lot._ It amused Fynta more than it should have to envision Ucevi and this human male in a similar relationship to herself and Aric. She wondered how it worked, then decided it was probably best if she didn’t know. “Yeah. I’ve got one too.”

“Her?” The Sith indicated Dorne, who split her time between eyeing the Imperial suspiciously and observing the droid’s work.

“Elara?” Fynta tilted her head, staring at the woman thoughtfully. “Huh, never considered it, but she’s not bad. No, mine’s a sniper.” Her voice dipped further, out of earshot but for the two of them. “And, a Cathar.”

“Ah. That does limit things.” Ucevi was silent for a moment, then replied with a hushed laugh, “Do you think a blowjob might distract my way out of the lecture?”

The mischievous grin popped back onto Fynta's face. “New scope sometimes works for me.”

“Not for him.” The Sith sighed, straightening when the droid stepped into place. “Ah well, I’ll just have to let him get it out of his system. At least the sex later will be worth the lecture.”

Then Fynta shrugged. “I _might_ manage a shower before mine starts in on me about the various ways my stupidity is going to get me killed. I say, at least it’ll be a hell of a story.” 

Ucevi made room when the droid turned those soulless eyelights on on Fynta. “How does that usually go over?”

“About as expected--easy, tincan.” Fynta leaned away from the approached, robotic fingers.

“Don’t be such a baby,” Thirteen snipped, incapacitating Fynta in the same way that she had Ucevi. “Are you a soldier or a squalling nerf calf?”

“Is she for real?” Fynta asked through the muffled pinch of her cheeks. When she tried to pull away, Thirteen tilted Fynta’s head back and stepped closer to the table, cutting off her main avenue of freedom. 

Now that Ucevi had escaped the droid’s ministrations, her mood was improving rapidly. She leaned close enough to whisper, “She knows her stuff, just has no patience when she thinks something’s self-inflicted.”

“Fascinating.” Elara moved closer, forgetting her distrust long enough to lean over the droid’s arm. “RSD series, did you say? Perhaps--”

“Don’t even think about it,” Fynta growled, jerking away from her captor when the droid released her.

Thirteen snatched Fynta back into place, hindering her ability to react when the door opened to admit the Mirialan woman, trailed by a very attractive Chiss man. While she was still smirking, he took in the situation, nodding politely to Dorne, and moved to stand by Quinn. 

Fynta snickered when, after some whispered conversation, the Chiss’s sharp brow lifted at Ucevi. She couldn’t help taunting the Sith. Not while she could theoretically get away with it. “Ucevi, my friend, you have quite the effect on the men in your life.”

Ucevi shrugged, though her lips twitched, then raised her voice enough for both men to hear. “Guy wasn’t taking no for an answer.”

The Chiss exhaled sharply, pinching his nose. “Ah. Do I need to call for a cleanup team?” Though it was hard for Fynta to tell, she thought Quinn might look less...snooty, too.

Ucevi waved a dismissive hand. “No, Joran, pretty sure the bouncers have taken care of them by now.”

Finally free from Thirteen’s prodding, Fynta worked her jaw before elbowing the Sith at her side. “Where can I get one of those?”

“You have to start in childhood and swear a sort of blood oath to each other.” Ucevi’s lips twitched, eyes on the men but words clearly meant for Fynta. “And you haven’t lived until you’ve had _both_ of them waiting to chew you out in private. Two for the price of one.”

Sliding from the table, Fynta folded her arms and let her admiring gaze slide slowly first over the human, then his Chiss companion. “I could work with that.” 

“Not that way.” Ucevi smirked. “Not that I haven’t had that thought a few times, but it’s...complicated.” A thought occurred to her then, now that the business of treatment was out of the way. “Major? What unit?”

Fynta’s playful examination of Ucevi’s crew ended, replaced by the sort of suspicion she’d expect of an enemy soldier. The internal war played across Fynta’s features, until she finally shrugged. “What the hell, it’s not like we’re covert after that cluster fuck on Corellia. Havoc squad, the Republic’s worst kept secret.”

“Havoc? Havoc.” Ucevi repeated slowly, waiting for the pieces to click into place as she knew they must. “Quinn, why does Havoc squad sound familiar?”

The man blinked, some of his earlier stiffness gone. “My lord, that’s the unit that retook the Bastion on Corellia, I believe. Pierce was quite incensed and ranted about them for days.”  
Ucevi groaned. “Shit. What were the odds?”

Fynta’s wariness returned as she resisted the urge to put distance between herself and the room full of Imperials. She flicked a warning glance towards Elara, though the woman had already worked her way closer to Fynta. “You knew someone there?” Fynta kept her tone conversational, noting that she hadn’t been disarmed, and unwilling to risk a political incident on Nar Shaddaa...again. “Uh, sorry about anyone you lost. War, you know? It’s hell on everyone.”

Quinn’s expression shifted as he suddenly understood why Ucevi had asked, struggling between outrage and an unholy glee. _Well, as much he lets anything show in public._

She looked at him and waved a finger. “No. We are _not_ mentioning this to Pierce.” She realized Fynta and Dorne were both watching the Imperials with a great deal of trepidation, but felt no strong emotion. _And I’m not about to try using the Force on them; for all I know, one could be mildly Force sensitive_ . _No point escalating the situation._

“So, one of my other people? Commanded the Black Ops team that _took_ the Bastion in the first place. He’s...a little steamed that the Empire let you retake it.” 

“Oh, shab.” The comment came out as a half laugh. Not exactly the way Fynta had intended. Still, knowing that Ucevi had Black Ops on her crew painted the Sith in a new light. 

Ucevi shrugged. “Hey, you were doing your job, just like he was, and we’re not on Corellia now, as you said. But pretty sure he’d be a bit pissed that I was having a drink with _you_ , of all people.”

Fynta had just a moment to feel a surge of relief before the door banged open, preceding a large Cathar male in Republic fatigues. “What the actual hell, woman! Losing your leg wasn’t enough? You’ve only been back on active duty two months.”

Fynta cast a betrayed glare towards Elara. _Should have known she’d call him._ Then quietly thanked all the deities she knew of that Ucevi’s people weren’t easily spooked. Apart from the Mirialan’s flinch towards her lightsaber, no one drew weapons. It wasn’t until a collective exhale ran through the room that Fynta noticed that the Chiss too was moving his hand away from somewhere that contained no visible weapon.

Though boxed in by aliens, Quinn regarded Aric with more than a little shock. Fynta wondered if it had to do with the insubordination in Aric's growling tone, or that there were so few Cathar in the Empire. He might have huffed when Cormac shouldered into the suddenly too small room behind Aric. “Sorry, boss, I held him off as long as I could.” Tanned skin mottled red as he rubbed the back of his bald head and refused to meet Fynta’s eyes. When the man noticed that they weren’t alone, he offered a polite nod that was accompanied by a bashful smile. “Evening, folks.”

Fynta’s head tipped back, pleading gaze searching the ceiling.. “Ucevi, meet Captain Aric Jorgan, my second in command.” She gestured at the aforementioned Cathar, who answered in a barely noticeable lift of the chin. Ucevi wondered if he realized yet who his commanding officer had taken up company with. As it stood, the flared nostrils and hands on hips gave testimony to a long running argument involving circumstances like the one that landed them under Thirteen’s churlish care. 

Ucevi chuckled, tapping her lips in a polite attempt to hide her smirk. “I believe I understand. That must make things...complicated.” Fynta watched the Sith put aside appearances of propriety when her gaze bounced between the two captains. “Amazing how much they sound alike.”

Fynta watched the realization play across his feature, lips pulled back in a snarl of frustration as he threw his hands up. “Of course, they had to be Imps on top of it.”

“Aric has never been shy about speaking his mind,” Fynta explained while her husband paced the small space afforded to him. She flashed a cheeky grin at the Cathar, whose responding growl didn’t didn’t make him appear any more human in the eyes of the Imperials. Though, given that only one of the Imperials could make that claim, Fynta guessed it didn’t matter.. “The stories I could tell.”

Thirteen cleaned up all of the soiled medical supplies, snapped her case shut and glared at them. “No fighting, no drinking for at least 6 hours.” She fixed Ucevi with a glare. “Especially you, Sith. You really don’t want me getting more creative than I already have.”

Quinn cleared his throat, managing to avoid eye contact with anyone in the crowded room except his... _Wife, Mistress, Master_ ? Fynta wasn’t sure what he called her. “My lord, we _do_ have an appointment.”.

Ucevi nodded, slowly getting up. “Of course, Captain.” She offered a hand to Fynta, a genuine smile and less creepy than Fynta expected. “Major, it’s been a pleasure, in a very strange way.”

Fynta took the Sith’s hand, a first and probably last, then pulled Ucevi closer so that only the Sith Blood could hear. “Look me up next time you’re in town. I’m sure you’ve got the means.”

Something rigid flexed against Fynta’s palm, and she couldn’t help but laugh when she realized it was a contact card. Ucevi’s grin widened to show a mouth full of white teeth, then she winked. “Oddly enough, I think I’d enjoy that. Try not to end up on the same battlefield, Major.”

Fynta winked, clicking her tongue for effect as the two women separated. She finished the entire thing out with an almost salute and shunted her men towards the door so that no one could be accused of trying to detail a Sith entourage.

The Mirialan woman looped an arm through Ucevi’s and firmly guided her out the door with a grin and a wave. Fynta had no idea who the woman was, but guessed she might find out if Ucevi ever made good on contacting Fynta for drinks. The Mirialan Sith looked more put out that she’d missed the fight than the state of her fellow Sith. The two men and the droid fell in line next, following what seemed to be a familiar routine. Before he left, however, Quinn paused to glare back at Fynta once more before he too disappeared from her life.

“Hey Dorne.” Fynta shouldn’t say what popped into her head, but she’d never been good at keeping her mouth shut. “Was that some sort of Imperial mating glare?” 

Elara huffed. “You’re incorrigible.” The jibe was delivered with the same exasperation as always, while Cormac tried to contain his laughter behind pinched lips. 

With the threat and medical treatment passed, Cormac ushered his wife from the room with the promise of a proper date while Aric rounded on Fynta. “You just outed Havoc to a Sith.”

“Just us.” Fynta remembered the card still tucked against her palm and read it absently. “I didn’t give her anyone else’s name, and ours was all over the news so we’re no secret.”

Aric grumbled some dissent but Fynta didn’t catch it. She turned the card over, looking for more information that wasn’t there. “Huh.” Curiosity won out as Aric moved behind Fynta to read over her shoulder. “What the hell is a _Wrath_?”

* * *

Have some lovely art by the wonderful chaosandwonder for Fynta and Ucevi sharing a drink. They don't look like they are up to something, right?

**Author's Note:**

> There will probably be more meet ups between Fynta and Ucevi because this wsa heckin fun.
> 
> Tish: It was SO much fun! They definitely need a second meeting. Preferably with Joran or Zas chaperoning, lol...


End file.
